


The Civil Rules of Swordplay

by AndreaLyn



Category: Pirates of the Caribbean (Movies)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-05
Updated: 2014-10-05
Packaged: 2018-02-19 23:58:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2407649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AndreaLyn/pseuds/AndreaLyn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack's known for years that swordplay was just a fancy form of foreplay.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Civil Rules of Swordplay

There isn’t anything interesting about waking to the blank mediocrity of a cabin inside of the Black Pearl. Jack loves the ship, he does – more than most things – but the bleak interior isn’t even comparable to the carved wood on deck that he has fallen in love with. Some mornings, he rises with the sun just so he can run his fingers ever so lightly across the warped and experienced wood – he’d never call her old. He tries to mask the childish smile that finds its way to his face, and he’s managed to do a good job of it so far. His crew – who sleep like the damned – are never awake to see this event. They remain abed, lest Jack indulges in a round of really bad singing in the depths of the Pearl.   
  
Interesting, however, were the dreams he had woken from.   
  
Jack likes to cling to the visions at times while he watches the sun blaze and burn the horizon and vows to reach that distant land that holds all the treasure he ever hoped for, and possibly at the same time, it would hold the one challenge he never could conquer.   
  


* * *

  
  
Jack’s known for years that the fine art of swords and fencing is all just a fancy form of foreplay. There’s nothing he likes more than the glint of heavy steel clashing against another sword in a frenzy of mad parrying and thrusts – which really isn’t all as dirty as it sounds, Jack  _swears_.   
  
It’s a shame and a blessing all at the same time that Will never knew Jack quite well when they had their first swordfight, else the whelp would have some rather interesting comments to toss out into a decent and pleasant conversation.   
  
After all, it has become harder and harder for Jack to even allow the thought of footwork to cross his mind without it being linked to something deviant and sexual in nature (that time that Anamaria caught him off-guard with that broadsword didn’t help. She had wielded it like a madwoman – burning fury in her eyes – and Jack was never more thankful that the weapon had been too dull to leave substantial bruises. After all, when rolling over a sword, the blade is always a dangerous threat).   
  
Step left, step right, dodge the sword, and take a little more oxygen in to mask the fact that the sparring was causing a shortness of breath that physical exertion was not responsible for. Jack wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world though, because to be honest, he thoroughly enjoyed the cloudy fog that surrounded him when he raised his blade to fight.  
  
And oh, but Will was pretty when he fought.   
  
It was something that should not – and for the sake of Jack’s life,  _would not_  be admitted aloud – but it was a constant thought running through his mind as Jack prodded on and on about footwork and form. His mind rushed with the sheer awareness of how the boy fought and how it made him so dizzy, he could barely recall the details of the fight.  
  
There was only one other person he ever wanted to have a clashing of swords with, and Jack was just waiting for the day for it to happen.  
  


* * *

  
  
Jack dreams of a swordfight. He dreams of clashing blades, and clanging steel with a foe. He dreams that it is quick, rushed, frantic – everything he always thought it would be – and he finds himself besting his enemy’s sword. Instead of striking that final blow, he darts forward and kisses him – fast as the fight had been, and rougher than the grace of swords would ever allow.  
  
It is only a moment – only a miniscule second – but Jack dreams it.  
  
He wakes and listens to the quiet lull of the waves to calm his nerves, clasping the hilt of his sword for reassurance. The metal is cold to the touch, and Jack gives a secret smile as he closes his eyes and imagines drawing the sword and facing off against an enemy.   
  
One day, he promises himself, one day it will happen.  
  
“Captain Sparrow!” Anamaria’s shrill voice echoes throughout the ship. “We’ve got trouble up here, and we sure wouldn’t say no to any help!”  
  
“I won’t ask you again to let me through, miss,” a haughty voice booms after Anamaria’s warning call. Jack perks up with an enthusiastic smirk. His one day of triumph has come sooner than he expected to. With one quick draw, Jack draws his sword and hides it behind his back, trying to contain his excitement as he bounds up the stairs to one level below the deck – and he waits there, leaning against a post as the officer saunters down the stairs.  
  
“Sparrow,” he tosses out.  
  
“Captain,” Jack amends with one finger in the air. “Now how did you and your mates get aboard this ship?”  
  
“You’re anchored,” the reply comes quickly and dryly. Jack raises an eyebrow.  
  
“True!” He nods. “Very true, Commodore. After all, the easiest way onto an enemy’s ship is aboard a plank when both ships are at a standstill. Honestly though,” Jack pitches his voice lower. “I prefer to wait for a challenge. Although, I suppose we can’t all be men of adventure.”  
  
“I’m less a man of adventure and more a man who wants to get you in irons,” Norrington replies with a look of pure ennui painted on his face. Jack laughs and gives a little hint as to the presence of a sword. Norrington’s face lights up with recognition. “Is this how it will go then?”  
  
“James,” Jack shakes his heads and chides. “It is James? I always assumed it to be, or rather…imagined it to be. If you don’t like it, I can imagine you being a Percy and call you that, if you’d prefer, of course.”  
  
“I wouldn’t,” he replies flatly. “Being that you have no idea about me, you may call me James, to fancy whatever insane delight your mind is on about,” he adds quietly.   
  
“But is it your name?” Jack inquires with heavy emphasis on the words, using his finger to point Norrington in the middle of his chest – leaving a black smudge of a mark.  
  
“For the intents and purpose of this conversation, yes,” Norrington says tiredly. “May we please fight if that’s what you want?” he begs.   
  
“I was going to pontificate,” Jack whines a little, and Norrington rolls his eyes.  
  
“I promise you that by the end of this, either you will be hanging, or I shall have to go deaf by cause of your madness,” Norrington says – his voice lightening – while one of his hands rests on his sword.  
  
“Excellent!” Jack claps his hands together after he secures his sword to his belt. “You see,” he begins to speak and wraps a hand around Norrington. “You see, James, a fight is so much more than a fight, savvy?”  
  
“And how I wish it was simply killing or capturing you,” Norrington dryly replied.  
  
“A perk, yes,” Jack concurs, while leading their bodies up the stairs slowly. “But there’s the metaphysical, philosophical, intellectual, grammatical, agricultural…”  
  
“You’re making this up,” Norrington interrupts Jack’s rant. Jack pauses to think about the words he has just spoken, and winces. “You are!” Norrington insists when he doesn’t get a response. They reach the deck to find both Norrington and Jack’s crew on their toes.  
  
“All men,” Jack begins to shout and stops hastily, “and woman,” he adds with a guilty look in Anamaria’s direction, “below deck!” he orders with a sneer. In a matter of moments, there is only the Royal Navy along with Jack.  
  
“Now that was stupid,” Norrington scoffs.   
  
“James, please,” Jack begs, “I’m trying to give us the opportunity for a dramatic and gentlemanly fight! Now, if you’d be so kind as to return the favour…?”  
  
Norrington hesitates a moment and looks to Gillette for some sort of advice regarding the situation. No advice comes though, and with a tired sigh, he waves his hand. Jack’s face lights up with delight when Norrington takes off his hat, his wig, and his jacket to hand them to a lower officer.  
  
“Take these and return to the ship,” he comments quietly. “All men to the ship!”  
  
“Sir?” Gillette speaks now.  
  
“I can take this from here,” Norrington asserts, and Jack nods encouragingly behind him. To Jack’s delight, there is messy, brown hair underneath that tight white wig – just like Jack had imagined it. It begins to curl in the light breeze. In a matter of moments, they are alone on the deck – with the company of Cotton – and Norrington has begun to pace.  
  
“I see no reason here,” he says quietly.   
  
“Yes, madness,” Jack rolls his eyes. “I thought you’d established that about me some time ago.”  
  
“Madness, yes,” Norrington shoots back, drawing his sword. “Stupidity, no.”  
  
“Ah, so you admit I have intelligence!” Jack draws his own sword, and feels a chill run down his spine at the sound of the metal being unsheathed. “James, I must warn you…”  
  
“Of what this time?” Norrington cuts in impatiently. “Leprechauns, pixies, sprites? Can we  _please_  just fight.”  
  
“Well,” Jack says with a shrug. “If you insist!”  
  
He thrusts forward with a strong parry to initiate the fight, and Norrington deflects it with one smooth flick of his wrist – reflected in the motion of the sword. He doesn’t even move one of his feet. Jack makes a noise of admiration as the blood in his body begins to boil.   
  
“You enjoy this,” Norrington accuses when Jack begins to grin.  
  
“And if I do?” Jack challenges. Norrington spins a little and goes for a little lower cut, slicing the bottom half of Jack’s shirt. Jack’s eyes go a little wide as he jumps back, and Norrington beams with triumph.  
  
“Feisty,” Jack growls, and with a complicated move of his wrist accompanied by a tricky spot of footwork, he manages to get behind Norrington and make a cut to the buckle of his pants. “But that’s one for me,” Jack whispers into his ear before Norrington spins around and Jack points the tip of his sword to his chest.  
  
“Well?” Norrington raises his chin a little. “Kill me then,” he orders.  
  
“I have you at my mercy, yes?” Jack demands, narrowing one eye a little.   
  
“Yes,” Norrington agrees.  
  
“Well then, James,” Jack purrs, leaning in so that his stubbled cheek is brushing against Norrington’s – sure to leave a burn by morning. He taps Norrington’s sword with his own until it is dropped. Only then does Jack assume it is safe for him to rest his mouth right beside Norrington’s ear.  
  
“What sort of pirate’s mercy is this?” Norrington demands. “Kill me or be done with this insanity,” he commands.  
  
“Oh James,” Jack whispers gently. “You never did understand. You never quite could. You don’t understand why you lost Elizabeth to the whelp, and you don’t understand why I don’t want to see that uniform of yours splattered in blood.”  
  
“And if I don’t?” Norrington swallows.   
  
Jack laughs, and his body shakes with it.   
  
“Oh the things,” he whispers with heavy breath straight into his ear, “that I could do to you James. The things I could teach you.”   
  
“Yes?” Norrington sounds weaker now. Jack takes both his hands, plants them around the back of Norrington’s head and kisses him quickly and roughly – a gesture that could almost be forgotten by a mind desperate enough to forget – before pulling back to his spot at the ear.  
  
“Is that my lesson?” The spite and bitterness remained in his voice, but Jack could detect some forms of amusement there.  
  
“Oh, I didn’t plan on teaching you today,” Jack chides him. “And for the record, I always knew your name was James. Do tell me I’m right Commodore,” he pleads. “After all, it would make my day.”  
  
“It is,” Norrington hesitantly admits, his back straightening as the seconds passed. “James, that is.”  
  
“Excellent! I’d hate to have to call you Percy when I did this,” Jack explains.  
  
Norrington’s face explodes with confusion while Jack smiles sweetly at him, places two hands flatly on his chest and pushes him to the edge of the ship before giving him that extra push that sends him toppling to the sea below.  
  
“Until next time James!” Jack calls out happily and waves from the top of the Pearl when Norrington surfaces, using his hat as a prop to further the effect as the crew came from everywhere and anywhere and set the ship adrift. He runs one hand gently along the wood frame of the ship and winks at Norrington – who is sputtering and cursing Sparrow from the water.   
  
Jack makes up his mind not soon after the Royal Navy is out of their sights.  
  
When it comes to swordplay, James is just so much prettier at it than Will.


End file.
